


When You Give Superman a Car

by starchaser22



Series: Seven Day Fic Challenge [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, Superman (Comics)
Genre: Fic Challenge, Humor, Identity Porn, M/M, bruce uses memes when on anesthetic, clark has the same phone number as luna, writing challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 20:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11676909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starchaser22/pseuds/starchaser22
Summary: Prompt:"You accidentally hit me with your car and gave me your info in case I wanted to make a case against you, but I was all loopy from the adrenaline and hospital drugs and listed you as my emergency contact."





	When You Give Superman a Car

Batman was injured a lot. His body was lined with scars from various knives, axes, and other pointy objects. Batman knew how to take care of the injuries on his own, and if he was in too much pain or unconscious, he had Alfred to help him out.

Bruce Wayne was a little bit different.

While he was still dented with the same scars, Bruce wasn't some trained physician. He couldn't stand the sight of blood, and Bruce despised needles.

So imagine the chaos when he was hit by a car.

News outlets all over Gotham got wind of the incident within seconds. Billionaire Bruce Wayne was hit by Clark Kent, a reporter visiting from Metropolis. The irony? Clark was in town to interview Bruce for The Planet.

Of course, that's just what the news outlets said. What was truly ironic is that Superman, a man who didn't even need a car, had just hit Batman, both without either of them realizing.

A nearby witness had called 911 mere seconds after it took place - Clark took about a minute to get over the shock before he threw the door open to check on the injured civilian.

He ran up and kneeled before Bruce. Clark could lower his lead-lined glasses and check for internal injuries, but it just didn't feel right. He's not Superman, and the paramedics were already on the way.

Bruce looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, blinking rapidly, dazed. He knew he should do something, but he didn't know what. He'd never been to a doctor, he's never been hit by a car.

"Uh, how many fingers am I holding up?" Clark asked, helplessly waving four fingers near Bruce's line of sight.

"Six?" He squinted, nose crinkling.

Clark almost started crying. God, he'd really messed up this time.

He fumbled around in his pocket, pulling out his pen and notepad. Clark scribbled his contact info down on it, tucking it into the other man's jacket pocket.

He watched for a few more minutes, making sure he was okay until the ambulance arrived.

\----------------------------------------------

"Patient was hit by a car, doctor. No broken bones, mild concussion, possibly a sprained ankle. We are still checking different options, but for now, Mr. Wayne is on anesthetic, resting," a nurse at Gotham City Hospital reported.

"Thank you, I'll be right in to see him," the doctor answered, rolling his fancy swivel chair away from the filing cabinets. Bruce Wayne had no contact information on file, and no one had arrived with him. The doctor sighed; he really hated making his patients fill out paperwork when they had already been put on anesthetic.

He stood up, taking his snazzy clipboard (it had been bedazzled by his daughter, mind you) and making his way to the emergency wing.

"Good evening, Mr. Wayne," he greeted, washing his hands. "Car accident?"

Bruce nodded, tossing his head to the side in an effort to stay awake.

"Your vitals seem okay, but you do have a very low heart rate. Do you know if that's normal for you?" The doctor really wished he had some medical records on this man. Apparently, billionaires just don't feel the need for a regular check-up with their physician.

Bruce nodded vaguely, "The only thing that's high is my motivation. My pulse never stops beating. Always on the grind, bro."

The doctor sighed. "Okay, Mr. Wayne. As long as there are no concerns. Also, you have to fill out a contact information sheet, since we do not currently have anything on file."

"Oh! Wait-" Bruce reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a crinkled piece of paper, proud and lopsided grin in place. "Just take this."

The doctor sighed again. You would think he was used to crazy things, living in Gotham. Really, this wasn't even that bad, but he was tired, and hungry, and was about to head home when Bruce Wayne arrived. He knew that it was illegal for the patients or a legal guardian not to fill out the forms, but he didn't care. "Of course, Mr. Wayne. I'll contact them right away."

He ducked out of the room, making a beeline to the phone so that he could call Clark Kent, reporter for The Planet and Bruce Wayne's emergency contact. The doctor dialed, 7-7-3-2-0-2-5-8-6-2, and listened to the ring.

\----------------------------------------------

"I didn't realize that hitting you with a car made me your emergency contact," Clark stood at the door of Bruce's hospital room, playing off his stress with a cheeky grin.

It had been a few hours since the accident. Bruce had slept off most of the anesthetic, switching to rely on prescription pain pills since he wouldn't have to undergo anything major. "I was too loopy to remember anyone I actually knew. Your contact information was right there."

"Well, I'm actually a little glad, because now I get to apologize to you in person-"

"Clark," Bruce held up a firm, still hand. Even with the IV in his wrist and a monitor vocalizing his heartbeat, he still managed to surprise Clark by looking threatening. "Don't worry about it. I had ran across without waiting for the crosswalk to change. Besides, there's no major injuries, so I'm sure everything will be forgotten if you agree to a cup of coffee."

Clark was surprised by the sudden boldness when a thought struck him: what if he said no? Would Bruce Wayne sue him? Is it either $2 for a cup of coffee or $2 million for hitting him with a car?

But then Bruce started laughing, and everything seemed okay when he laughed, like a sudden burst of light in the musty, dimmed hospital room. "You can relax; I'm not going to hold it against you if you say no."

He smiled at Clark, and Clark felt all the tension steam from his shoulders, an evaporated mist, long forgotten. He smiled back, "I'd love to."

**Author's Note:**

> someone pls help how does ao3 formatting work


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